What Is The Cost For Angel Bites?

notorious, Paris was the most desirable cities. The festive entertainment and cultural happenings there were none. Successive municipalities had turned into a patchwork of charming villages where it was good to stroll among the street performers in favor of associations and fashionable designer boutiques. Automobiles became scarce, entangled in a gymkhana of socks and bladders that urban planners, concerned with ecology and sustainable development, their behest. Were converted to parking spaces in paths skateboarding youth, roadways yielded precedence to the rails of the tramway friendly environment. We invented a city without cars, which had never existed since the Neolithic. But Herve
Berneuil, Paris was a disaster. Because there was no Mrs. Tran, nor any other brothel, under a law that the dignity of women venal lies in the exhibition of his body on the sidewalk rather than inside a house. There were only few fresh whores who congregated in streets where prowling the gloomy underworld, under the amused eye and complicit police patrols. It was the place of all scams, these girls had no work ethic, she took their clients in the filthy dens, peep the blue or the one reached after a stairwell where the swindlers were lying sprawled on the carpet faded and, after they won their gold mine froze in a pose as little as possible erotic, the slightest movement, the slightest touch demanded extra pay, and we wanted only one thing, get dressed and go to breathe faster as far as possible. They then had
buttons, beads badly placed, sparse hair pussy, breasts hanging down, or monstrous pile lard; other narrow hips, buttocks man, a belly of a senator had deft babydoll concealed, or a horrible makeup, not to mention their sixties who hoped to solicit you by explaining how they were vicious .
He had tried a call girl, found on the Internet, what's most exclusive and demanding, reserved for VIPs, courteous gentlemen and high-level, he slammed the third of his salary for one hour fun with a poor girl perfectly ordinary, something that had cost him two bowls of rice in the mother Tran. It was
down to kiss his wife, which, basically, was no worse, but over time, as the traces of his sexual bulimia faded, she showed less desire, if that was the odors left by other females on the body of her husband who attracted him infallible testimony of his power and fertility.
In addition, the Parisians were living like rats. Tourists, the jet-set, and idle youth, who drifted to sutface, constituted only a facade. The true Parisian life took place underground in the subway, his gray and wet asphalt smells, urine and burning rubber. Its beggars, when they do not harass passengers of their speech and their rancid falsetto, discoursed among themselves socialists multiple grants and allowances which they were entitled, as perfect small Soviet bureaucrats, or ideal readers of the press Handsets which flourished, full of financial promises, the stalls and kiosks. The closed faces, bodies tense passengers, froze into a fortress against the assaults the senses and mind which grew through the maze of pestilence. We had deleted the first class, we could not take his car, and the growing masses of people were crowding one, two, or three hours a day underground in which many of the wretched inhabitants of the Horn of Africa would have preferred a quick death. In Mecca, we welcomed the equality and social mixing that would follow hegemony of mass transit, while the rats were suffering in silence, dreaming of the caribbean paradise that shimmered on giant posters of tour operators. And Captain Berneuil lived as these rats also forced him to take the metro to go meditate for eight hours on the meaning of life, planted in front of a mound art that the taxpayer had bought so many creative acquaintances.
Virility Hervé Berneuil narrowed even more, instead of killing the mujahedeen, he was now engaged in the protection of objects as inept and cumbersome. And against what? An unlikely gang of masked Turlupins not found probably never. Because politicians had once erected, when? can not even remember, these objects inept and bulky emblem of social ties, new Iliad, Aeneid new egalitarian world of the new elites that built. The captain had only one desire: to unload the contents of his machine gun on the masses Stone also informed that he had expensive care.
In accordance with the theory, Herve Berneuil, frustrated in his desires - can not eat a decent steak, meat from Argentina and Australia which he pollock in Djibouti could not cross the filter deployed by "Brussels" - sank into apathy and showed an alarming indifference to the world around him. There
tourists throughout the colonial military. The holstered gun, closed the door of the brothel, he laced his sunglasses, puts on his shirt with flowers, hang a camera around his neck, and will drive the card images Post as would any retiree. And for the military and colonial familiar reg Jebel, Paris was a tourist destination as exotic as the others. But Berneuil whose needs pyramid eroding at the base, it was gray and dull as an oven. The festive flavor narrow and had agreed, compared with bullets whistling in the ears jihadists. The shows were choking in a straitjacket leftist he abhorred. There was only classical music, but he preferred the records of old constant coughing does not pollute and boxing matches in which his wife was crazy, but we conduct only in sordid places.
reacts with indifference mixed with boredom when his wife told him that his stepfather wanted him. He did not see what he could say to this old eighter sixty-end position. He did not understand why it came back on the ban pronounced against her daughter. Probably curious to see what it was like the father of small children would not know it. Anne and her had not the courage to refuse the patient satisfaction, and it was a rainy afternoon they climbed the freshly cleaned carpet to the marble staircase of the hotel Opulent the hometown of his stepfather. There was a heavy oak door painted black lacquer, a cast iron umbrella stand, and a doormat bearing a picture of Joan of Arc riding. This atmosphere of bourgeois and dusty halo remains incognito in this senior official of the artistic avant-garde. Felix
Rocquencourt, draped in a tweed gown, received them in a small room decorated with fine Chinese lacquer, stamped with rococo consoles and a fine collection of Ming porcelains. Anne sat on an ottoman Louis-Philippe, apparently electrified and decided to remain silent. Rocquencourt served them Cognac centenary, he kept in a crystal decanter engraved. His face was impassive, marked by illness, a man who can afford a final betrayal, because he knows that the dust will win the rest. Captain Berneuil was the first and last exotic animal he would ever see, and the only option to get an idea of its transgenic offspring and fascistic cocoon in which it grows. He waited almost a shaved head, the body of a fawn, a look which could not be read as the primary instincts, and his first surprise was that his son looked like a man with whom one could have tea or chatting in hushed offices of the department. It was disturbing: the extreme right was a veritable fifth column. One could even imagine that some officials docile Cultures of Solidarity, who applauded the initiatives most citizens, voted in secret to the infamous beast.
him the master of words, including a speech from the heart got anything, provided that the speaker belonged to the proper environment, remained banned as a boy, nailed his nose in his glass of Cognac. Berneuil, meanwhile, was also surprised. He waited an old bearded paunchy, with perhaps a short ponytail and a big sweater proletarian, who lived in a shambles or combination of social literature in paperback, surrounded by art and junk negro Himalayan. Or a domestic techno-pop and cyber-connected, white and minimalist, with surgical and neon chairs shaped noodle. And it smelled the dandy of the nineteenth century, without any reference to modernity, the stereo itself was hidden by an exquisite piece of furniture Charles X. He was making a rare recording of Liszt's Requiem, not conducive to conversation. Logically, would Rocquencourt had to settle for innocuous questions about the protection of the army museum Walsung. But he had no time to lose in trifles, and ...

How Do Animal Structures Well Suited To

SECOND INTERLUDE

constructivist philosopher did not tolerate the light. He lived cloistered all shutters closed, in an old apartment in the Rue Boulard. A reigned in unspeakable filth there. Orange peels, crumpled packaging, dry food for cats and moldy coffee filters dragged here and there among the old issues of the Review of Constructivist Philosophy he edited. Human time was a social fiction that he had substituted its own conventions lonely it is unnecessary or impossible to specify the hours of his meals and work sessions, which obeyed to any specific rhythm and whose relation to the natural cycles of the calendar was unstable and chaotic . The only relevant thing that concerned the constructivist philosopher, was the work to which he worked for two years, and which focused on the eradication of male. It was a fashionable idea, although not new and that he could in no way claim authorship, dating back at least to the SCUM manifesto of this poor mad Solanas. The philosopher constructivist nevertheless intended to provide rigorous analytical foundation to the project's most important human evolution. First observation: the male is responsible for almost all of social violence recorded since the story exists. Second observation: the endpoint of technological change is reached, negating the usefulness of the creators manic-depressive, the overwhelming majority are men. Worse, the modern economy requires qualities of attention, physical inactivity, order and dexterity, imposing a structural disadvantage for males come on the market, as evidenced by the inferiority of their academic performance. The unsuitability of males to modern life, each day further from the primitive bestiality, resulting in a widening gap between their life and that of females. Thirdly, a myriad of psychological studies had firmly established the men's emotional disability. On the one hand, and it overlapped the hormonal and neurological evidence-their ability to feel emotions of fine quality was zero, and the richness of women's experience, his nuanced palette of exquisite feelings, their were ever-prohibited unfair consequence of chromosomal determinism. On the other hand, the sexual instinct overwhelmed them as a burden, control of animal instincts was a struggle all the time, and like the dikes must inevitably give way one day, in the era of reciprocal altruism and compassion for the weak (high values female), each male was a potential danger to social stability. Fourth, thanks to advances in genetic engineering, the species now controlled their own evolution, and the abolition of sexual reproduction was possible. Although the constructivist philosopher was revered in academic circles on the planet, those in France among non-specialists might have mentioned his name, could be counted on the fingers of one hand. Yet his influence was enormous. Number of policy makers, manager, planners bureaucratic fashion gurus, ayatollahs of aesthetics had been teaching at the Ecole Normale Superieure. The twenty-nine volumes of his Summa Constructivist enthroned in the reading room of many men, among those who really counted. The doctrine budget of the Ministry of Cultures Partners proceeded entirely from ten pages of Volume XVII - Aesthetics - devoted to the theory of Random Art. Neurologists showed the particularly chaotic brain connections among major creative geniuses such as Rimbaud, Saint-Exupery, Malevich or Jim Morrison. The constructivist philosopher proposed to base the art of tomorrow on "intersubjective connections chaotic." In other words, the spark of genius proceed now rare and fruitful interactions between distinct individuals. The twentieth century saw the final breath of the creative potential individualism hideous. Regeneration of Western art went through cooperation between human beings, by hybridization of their conflicting personalities, which flashed like an electric spark the masterpieces of the new society, just as, as shown by Volumes IV and V devoted Economics, individualism had failed to produce equitable wealth and should eventually give way to a planned system using the best altruistic sentiments of everyone. Since the construction of the new man - who is a woman - and that of art its own would not progressing at the same pace, it was not to judge works of art with our new criteria reactionary, bourgeois and patriarchal. The Ministry of culture and solidarity can only be a conservatory all possible, any work produced by the method of intersubjectivity could legitimately claim his spirit, until the new society was firmly established and its elites can make the sort out the mess of artistic biodiversity we have left them. Tens of memoranda carefully rewritten by each hierarchical level, were circulated within the department, about the practical implementation of the aesthetic theories of Aristotle. Whatever it was difficult to discern at first a work of a work intersubjective ordinary as artists infected egocentric romance might fraudulently claim to subsidies, we had established a relatively reliable, especially when s' acted to punish officials suspected of distributing public money on the basis of their personal conception of beauty, pleasure, or commercial drift lower, because they had noted an early popularity.

Chicken Invaders Revenge Of The Yolk Cheat Engine

After the incursion of Jean-Claude Verdot in the closet of his girlfriend , there was no straightforward explanation, but a growing embarrassment arose between them. In place of their animated conversations (although they had no point of disagreement), it was now the silence that reigned over their little dinner in Chinese or Greek corner. He had only to smell the cigarette at the next table - the client waved obligingly between the index and middle fingers of his right hand, like a censer, merely take a few puffs of scattered carelessly - leering over their plates, listen to their conversation - who learned to Jean-Claude Verdot on housing prices, latest Markowicz, or how to enjoy the last little queue-jumping and free ride , nothing that he did not already know - the toilet once to wash their hands after urination - while she went there once to wash their hands once and for tinkering with her makeup, twice for urination and that the four voyages of his girlfriend did not coincide with those of Jean-Claude Verdot - and drawing the cell phone to talk with some knowledge insignificant, to tell them where it was in exchange for similar information from them. There were a thousand ways to give a capacity, but none dispelled the heavy cloud of suspicion and disappointment that surrounded the couple Verdot - we will forgive me this shortcut misnomer, since it was unthinkable that Jean-Claude Verdot ritual sacrifice in primitive and egalitarian marriage.
He wanted to know if she slept with guys, but dared not broach the subject. The banality he could have said instead were related to his job, so to contemporary, and he feared to learn more about bounded contempt of his girlfriend to modern culture.
One day she told him she had found a job at the tourist information office in Rennes. And it was almost by tacit agreement that she went to settle there, even if they had considered alternative arrangements. Jean-Claude
Verdot suddenly found himself alone, and excellent orgasms were no longer a pious memory, the belly button and her friend that she exhibited so generously to the public gaze. It plunged into a terrible fright, firstly because meet his sexual needs was again a difficult task, because then he felt no shadow a sadness. His marriage had he been a commercial partnership, an exchange of unbilled services, a more scheming to save rent, technical management of idleness in just over television, a season ticket for to empty the balls no more respectable than masturbation or frequenting whores?
As in any business relationship partner's identity was irrelevant, he could live with any other woman, she could sleep with any other type, and that was probably what she was doing.
He felt the need to look in the mirror. It was tempting. Brown, winning, ambitious, impeccably shaved, the tolerant eye, gesture suave, slim, buttocks close, comfortable in his required weekend which left a net drag of fresh air between his chest and his polo A perfect product of the Parisian bourgeoisie and its Institute for Policy Studies.
He had learned in college that had to be sexually relaxed. It was the reign of the English hood. There was on every wall. We distributed in the subway, at the entrance of pharamacies, next door to the Senior Advisor for Education, to the body art cinemas and testing centers for social action and toilets of restaurants. Photographs lined the giant condom billboards. All of them put: councils, youth ministry, ministry of public health, humanitarian organizations, gay liberation movements. The state distributed the leaflets to schoolgirls evocative images, full of hugs without complex, where we saw pairs of compounds variously practice in a halo of happiness all forms of eroticism, in positions that generations had earlier considered quite obscene, but that the art of photographer transfigured into an evocation of angelic bliss. It urged schoolgirls to be sexually relaxed with slogans such as "thirty partners, thirty condoms." And Jean-Claude Verdot also was employed there, whatever might cost him. And his efforts were rewarded, because few knew how to overcome setbacks to achieve orgasms he had excellent product with this girlfriend who was so proper love. He cherished a feeling of gratitude to the Ministry of Education National whereby his sex life had been so reasonably well.
He never quite understood why the hoods and tops of the images proliferated; new worship of the Phallus swathed in latex, so strong and popular as the cult of the Virgin Mary at its peak, even reversal of the latter, since the immaculate conception was substituted fornication barren her parents had vaguely said that it was to guard against disease, but these diseases did not involve in sexual slogans of government is exhorted youth to practice coitus indiscriminately provided to coat the glans with a film of rubber was a new mystery of the Faith, as transubstantiation, it was unpopular to criticize. Like others, Jean-Claude Verdot had sacrificed to the new phallic worship, to the delight of die rubber, until her relationship was stable enough for him to dispense with the sacrosanct rubber sticky after a favorable opinion of occupational medicine. The shadow of the divine, however Capote hung on all reports, even when they're happening. The hood was present, immanent and transcendent, even when she was absent. She embodied the trinity formed by fornication, security and equality, and by a kind of transmutation in the absence, enveloped in an aura all virtual coitus direct. This protective goddess inspired Jean-Claude Verdot visions. While he was making love, marching in his head psychedelic images of old tires, shoe soles, gloves to clean the toilets, and these elongated balloons with which children were the squares of the nodes.
The couple had the function to solve a technical problem, that of achieving better orgasms by dispensing condoms. Accordingly, the personalities that make up the couple are interchangeable. If Jean-Claude Verdot had lived with his girlfriend rather than another, it's because of frictions that prevent to meet an arbitrarily large number of women in an arbitrarily small time. The affinity of souls had played no role, and it was just because their schedules did not leave room for such affinities might hatch. Recreation was not so different from the work: both consisted of a series of tasks to accomplish: the car park, call the restaurant, the buck on the other side of the net, etc.. The tasks were then substituted for the creatures, now indifferent. And this was an admirable form of equality, solidarity and citizenship, that any woman would aim to become the girlfriend Jean-Claude Verdot, and that he was perfectly replaceable by another man. Finished, the weight of emotional storms, stifling the node mutual rights, the mouth of lead because we did not say what to say ... in an era poisoned herself sexually relaxed you do not life with statements Soul marriage.
It was therefore perfectly natural that Jean-Claude Verdot felt no sadness when a friend moved to Rennes. But contrary to what one could have foreseen that this lack of feeling terrified him, so that the few hairs he had on his legs stood on end and he could not repress a slight snap of teeth.
"I'm the one who is not" is what he could say. Behind the boy rider, slim, energetic and fine manners do was a dizzying nothingness, a bottomless pit dressed by the humdrum fonctionnarial a department, clonic mold of the Institute of Political Studies, relaxed sexual practices that he had been taught, and recreation semi-fashionable cultural meekly inherited from his class. This atrocious
doubt lasted a few weeks. And ambition was the impulse that made him emerge.
He learned the news that a former classmate had been appointed Special Advisor to the Prime Minister for urban renewal. Although urban renewal was less stylish than interdependent cultures, he remembered something like (some Combourg-Schneider) as a dirty son pushy dad (his father was a surgeon in sight) coupled with a perfect fool, and career-flash of this snobbish dislike it seemed a real threat. While he was content with his girlfriend and distribute money to the creators, while others filled their address book and prepared the best places for the future. If a pearl of wisdom whispered to continue to put the small pleasures of Paris, the ferocious territorial instinct urged him to break the back of Combourg-Schneider and his ilk.
After three years in the same position, we had not talked about promotion. He resolved to seek, and quite convinced that the case was vital to overcome the anxiety that the departure of his girlfriend had plunged.

***

Felix Rocquencourt detested nothing so much as these young idiots who in frog ministry offices. They came out the same schools, wore the same suits, and said the same thing. Women were more entertaining, even though most were only trying to take advantage of flexible hours and parsimonious and accumulate various holidays. More metastases progressed (air sorry physicians was almost comical, as if they were not sooner or later, too, join in the grave), plus the museum and the project Norbert Walsung Niebelstein, the summit of the dynamic art and conceptual, it seemed like antics. It really was not very serious on the part of a mature man, suffering from a serious illness, to pretend to be remembered through such childish bureaucratic.
Basically, he was a bastard. Ie a perfect officer. Or a schizophrenic for whom the necessities of the service were beyond reproach, even if they are in complete contradiction with him. He never found it strange that the refined dandy who listened to classical music on period instruments, collected junk, bathed richly scented who had been the envy of the most famous casseroles of the Second Empire, and smoking of excellent cigars selected by a trusted and probably produced by semi-slaves under twelve years, was in the city of Saint-Just interdependent cultures, which did not give a penny to bourgeois art and its archaic values (dignity of the artist, public respect, work, effort, entertainment, reality, rules, narrative coherence, balance, composition ... all this nonsense that Verdun, Guernica and Nagasaki were abolished), but instead funded the overthrow institutional institutions.
It was the race of bastards who burn a village because they are orders, and condemn the innocent to the police because it suits them, besides this, able to enjoy life as an individual, cynically and without remorse. It took a bunch of metastases, and an officer of the extreme right he fucks his daughter, he became conscious.
He was glad he lived to the age Pacific where the last battles were called culture of solidarity, civic education, community health and urban renewal, as god knows how he had ended a few decades ago, when one could make an excellent career move for summary executions in Oradour, Auschwitz or Stalingrad. Small
department officials, he once pampered like soldiers of the new society, were more than sinister puppet - he almost heard in petto calculate the consequences of teasing that the game that would inevitably follow his death would have on their pathetic little career. There was one in front of him, a certain Jean-Claude Verdot, so insignificant that he had just discovered its existence, although he had crossed countless times in the hallways and they were seen at some meetings. This homunculus
came to spend so perfectly consistent with the regulatory maintenance manager, necessary for promotion. He had to promote one, so why not this one, thought Felix Rocquencourt, since in a few months these wriggling insects would fall over into nothingness.
By decree of October 17, 20xx, the government decided that only would be promoted officials who had completed their task fairly, with a keen sense of social priorities and a refusal incisive discrimination. It had established an observatory to identify the actions of each employee to certify their compliance with these objectives. We do not climbed the ranks as a favorable report from the Centre. Therefore the left of Felix Rocquencourt, on a Chippendale desk antique Kensington had been delivered, the report was placed forty-two pages of the Centre Jean-Claude Verdot. He did not read of course, what distinguishes a clerk in a round-of-leather needy. But he took a fancy to browse while his partner, sitting beside his chair, stammered an air of constipated the usual speech, which showed how much he supported the objectives of the department and how much he was willing to exercise responsibility to read further, while respecting the union prerogatives.
-Mmh, Rocquencourt interrupted, it would seem that there is only twenty-eight percent of women among the recipients of your awards ...
-Uh ... I ...
-The Observatory also notes the use of sexist pronouns in your business writing, you know, this circular which states that the use of "he or she is obligatory in official documents, and requires the use of the feminine where the writer saw fit to ease her style ...
The other lost composure.
-This is perhaps not so severe, you may be able to convince the Centre that your choice was particularly appropriate, as regards the political content
works ... "That is to say ...
"Unless you've paid particular attention to the sexual orientation of beneficiaries ..." Well ...

-If, for example, you show in the Observatory supporting evidence, that there are at least nineteen percent of bisexuals, lesbians, gays and transsexuals - I remind you that the compensatory purpose of past discrimination was set at five per cent - see ... ten- nine to twenty-eight ... we are not too far off the mark, although I count the lesbians twice. Felix
Rocquencourt wildly amused. He had decidedly sadistic fiber. The other recovered himself took up a pretty convincing tirade on the need to end sexism and discrimination. It sounded like old hat, a popular tune of our childhood, a melody of old sung by our nurse. Rocquencourt took a kindly and reassured him. The other enlisted to scrupulously ensure gender parity in service, as well as to develop special attention to homosexuals, bisexuals and transsexuals, and also those with disabilities, people of color, homeless , undocumented immigrants, homeless, and other species left behind. Then he rambled on about the ministry ... spearheading awareness citizen ... the role of the state in organic solidarity of society ... the plural cultures and identities community ... the societal questioning of the artist plastic ... the public awareness of the new French school of filmmakers ... etc ... etc ... etc ... Rocquencourt floating in a cottony welfare (probably a metastasis, which ruined some secret nerve center), he listened distractedly while flipping through the report .
He interrupted again.
-There are more serious ...
-Pardon? You would
-funded exhibition on Marcel Estoublon .



*** Jean-Claude Marcel Estoublon Verdot knew as little as possible. Author there on the other side of the border that separates light from darkness. TVs and private theaters were feasted to his works. Those they touched are counted in millions, but those millions do not count, because the exotic and the sentimental junk from the bottom floor were banned in the Ministry of culture and solidarity. He had been specifically created to root out the people and the wrong crowd to raise the real art and socially concerned. But the people resisted and shunned the regional centers of drama to clump before the television and enjoy shamelessly moral scruples of the petty bourgeois canebière and devious chicanery illiterate peasants Valensole. Marcel Estoublon embodied everything that the department fought: commercial success, the apotheosis of the bourgeoisie and conventional writing, French Academy, moral obsolete, love of money, a liberalism of the Third Republic, and especially the people, not one that the trying to shape, but the real people, obscurantist, greedy, selfish, intolerant and tribal people that they could not break even in the Kabyle massively important and Senegalese, as these latter were afflicted with the same bullshit that people, that the work of a Estoublon complacent, who does not convey any social criticism, kept in darkness and the acceptance of his condition.
any link with Marcel Estoublon, even if he involuntarily like kinship, was enough to destroy a career in ministry. And Jean-Claude Verdot, who knew Marcel Estoublon as little as possible (he nearly fell out with his girlfriend he had a surprise at his heavy drama on TV), knew that much. He could have given money to a estoublonade only incidentally and without his knowledge. Or, as it was inconceivable that one can apply for a grant from the department on behalf of the seller of soup, he had simply not been paying attention, thinking perhaps a namesake (but it was only lawful to have the same name as Marcel Estoublon?). It was the old trick of the thing so big we did not see him. At least he had acted under the influence of any suicidal instinct, the call of the abyss he had found in him after his girlfriend was gone in Rennes. You could also think about a tragic error of the Observatory, or a paper slid into the record by the malice of an enemy. But he had none, he who ran perfectly in the spirit of the department and whose sense of rivalry that had not woken up after having spoken of Combourg-Schneider in the book business. ***


The mere mention of Marcel Estoublon enough to buckle Verdot Jean-Claude in a broom closet. But because of this effrontery probably unintentional, Felix Rocquencourt the junk collector who kept his complete works in a library of Estoublon locked, took a liking for this young man. Like the cat who loves to tease a little mouse before the crunch, he decided to have a little fun at the expense of Verdot. Life was so short, especially in his case!
"I want to believe in your good faith, but still, nonetheless, Marcel Estoublon is a bit strong ...
The other protested his loyalty.
-We would have to be convinced that you really ...
Profile Verdot asked to be put to the test.
-How you talk! We do not put an officer to the test! This would contradict this status, hard won after years of struggle, a more sacred! Know, my dear friend, there is something Calvinistic in our caste. It has the profile, or you do not. This is not working we acquire the necessary sense of intimate adherence to our goals.
He had rarely had so much fun. Happiness belongs to those who do not take life seriously. He had to wait to have more than eight months to live to see it. What a shame.
-It seems to me, "said Rocquencourt, only a psychological
custom ..." He paused to turn one of his excellent cigars he smoked in his office, violating the prohibitions and the great national cause of the fight against cancer, which in his condition had plenty of panache. He used to long matches scented with nutmeg, it was manufactured by a craftsman in the Rue des Francs-Bourgeois, a provider of eccentrics and the creative class, and lifestyle magazine which was devoted to glowing reports.
- ... only a psychological custom, could tell us about your ability to occupy a position of responsibility.
The waffle was sweet as honey. What a pleasure and disconcert his interlocutor with a stream of terms agreed hypocrite, who told him one thing: it was the right side of the barrier, which is holding the handle of the saucepan, and let go that we do 'in exchange for all the compromises and the abdication required of an aspirant to the rank of schizophrenic bastard, that is to say an officer responsible for the hum of the machine without surprise. The psychological
custom was the treatment of deviants, suspects, and traitors. Those who, like the ordinary porter private social conscience, reveled in Marcel Estoublon parts. Those who had risked jokes about a national priority, a cultural body, a rehabilitation plan of urban space, a collective of artists or a think tank museum. Those who had spoken to politicians from the extreme right. Those who did not have enough signed petitions or too openly sulked the National Theatre Citizen. Those who do not read The World or attended American businessmen. Those that had not quite seen in demonstrations against racism and for peace. Those who mocked in private Markowicz and Sung-Jun, and their friends had betrayed. Those who had known for a son's military career, unless they are bruised to the point of being consumed internally in a terminal residue of metastases.

***
Stunned, bruised, shriveled, Jean-Claude Verdot closed the door behind him who ascended to office padded Rocquencourt. Staggering under the weight of nausea, he dragged himself to his. Stunned by the blow that made him a cultural offender, he could not even leafing The World . It was the first unexpected thing happened to him in twenty-eight years old. She should have fun, but it did not have enough imagination for that.

Milena Velba En Streaming

CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 8

There was one area where Jean-Claude Verdot and his girlfriend were lagging behind, the licentiousness of marriage. Arguably Jean-Claude was so pleased with their carnal understanding he did not feel the need to try something other than his girlfriend. Also confess a certain visceral shyness prevented her from collecting experiences. All that embarrassed him, because part of buttocks had no more meaning than a game of tennis, you could practice it with anyone, provided that the performance of his or her partner are sufficient. Dating his girlfriend had never interested any more than other activities, nor that many aspects of his person, which left him indifferent. The important thing was to have a girlfriend and a healthy sex life settled, as probably most of his colleagues, especially those who were carefully groomed, confident, comfortable in their skin and finely commented the news. Was practice, there was a role model, one that offered him domineering bourgeois and the young so perfectly happy in the unshakable belief that they fortified by reading their daily evening preferred. And that day he realized his bliss, was also where he found the perfect identity of her lifestyle with that of his colleagues. More than an antiquated prudery
, monogamy - albeit fortuitous as that of Jean-Claude Verdot - betrayed a contemptible instinct of property, unworthy of a young head of mission at the Department of cultures together. Was sacralization entirely inappropriate, even hysterical, flesh, evoking the stained sheets of honeymoons, honor crimes committed with a gun shot, poison rings and other cloistered women, a toy-mythical southern , a nerdy machismo to Prosper Merimee on which everything will be fashionable was to spit with a knowing air. Since sexuality was more than pleased as the others, who, like tennis, could take place between persons of either sex (and it was not the slightest victory against the constructivist philosophy of human nature), since no longer played any role in human reproduction, fortunately guided by considerations of economic viability, social opportunity and public health, the instincts were jealous that the residue of an unhealthy and deadly Darwinian era gone by. For some it was even there some form of dementia, such as eating with his fingers or speak in grunts. It was therefore for quality people to practice openly erotic vagrancy, and to tolerate the antics of their partner, to demonstrate that they were fully eliminated their residue prehistoric they faced and good-naturedly the pooling of mucous intimate partner.
Despite his shyness and the fact that their mutual performance rendered any unnecessary extramarital affair, Jean-Claude Verdot no doubt that one day his girlfriend and her quietly lengthen their sexual charts, which would dispel the image of the repressed that we had him in the ministry - although he suspected it was not any evidence.
He had no doubt that jealousy was totally foreign to him, his girlfriend was not an object but it had to be free, free to wiggle and show her navel free to take his foot with which she wanted, a woman who has finally reclaimed his body and his sexuality, free even to be bored in the first Citizen of the National Theatre.
But after that first riot in which his car was burned, he felt an incomprehensible resentment, and had to admit that the instinct of property was brewing in him, just shaken by the assaults of his social conscience . Certainly, the car was a selfish and contemptible object merchant. None had a question that strikes by public transport - He agreed - and assaults that took place there - an unfortunate consequence of the exclusion. Of course, one could only encourage the youth revolt suburban victims of discrimination. Admittedly, it was because of the disgusting management of the mutual assured officials that, based on the principles of the private sector, which had reimbursed his car a quarter of its value. While the judges were right to condemn not only the young light work of general interest, because we know that the prison nourishes every infamy and that inequality is the only injustice. But Jean-Claude Verdot could turn off the flashing red light at the bottom of his soul, and warned that as the line separating his property from predators had been crossed with impunity, its existence was threatened. He knew that this was an old reflex inherited from millennia of evolution, a special wiring of its neurons, activation of enzymes and hormones that was no longer anything in the new society, but had no way to silence the anguished rage that tied him by the throat and insomnia afflicted punctuated by nightmares.
This same instinct whispered that evil had rights to his girlfriend, and he would have been very unpleasant she sleep with another man. Despite all his shame he could not banish the feeling possessive disgusting. And it was shameful, but without hesitation, that Sunday when she was away for an internship, he opened the closet where she piled her papers - the same closet modular panels of pine he had assembled himself two years ago, using this little bad steel crank still lingered in his tools - in search of clues about intimate adventure that would have been hidden. It was simply absurd, as it was understood that each retained their freedom and they had nothing to hide. But women's intuition of his girlfriend could very well blow him it was better not to provoke the instinctive repugnance property of Jean-Claude.
He did not expect to find anything but sanctimonious irrelevant: Orders and safety sheets forgotten heels of credit card countermarks laundry, notepad where she had scribbled a hasty phone number, paper clips, envelopes, postcards, administrative correspondence, pieces of invoice, photo films ... and that was the gist of the content. But there was a cardboard folder in which she had meticulously collected clippings of women's magazines. Like all items in this release, they offered practical advice to improve his personal life and feel better about yourself, praising the merits of passing a few products.
Titles evoked uninhibited enjoyment of the liberated woman of the oppressive yoke of man, who knows how to use with dexterity and domination of her charms, fully exercising his sexual power, and use of men in need, which was a fair compensation for thousands of years of oppression that are macho had just been released. Sexual superiority of women was fully recognized, since no fewer than four different organs procured him the pleasure, and women's magazines with an assumed superiority found this ribald insolence. We showed
creatures flat stomach (although the navel of the girlfriend of Jean-Claude was coated beads of fat, even though discrete and charming, do not disqualified under the eyes of a fashion photographer) fully blooming in the fullness of their bodies, like beautiful Fruit of August, and whose white teeth and expressed a haughty look I do not know what superhuman. The articles we explained how the lives of women was great because "summer sex will or will not," and "nothing like a little pussy for a pleasant holiday." Moreover, "know spice your love life by libertine adventures," "infidelity: a new lifestyle," and "test: are you a tease? . Meanwhile, the threesome is spreading like wildfire, so much so that talking about a phenomenon company, and have two men was the key to happiness. And why deny a muscular hunk on a beach, on the pretext that the children were staying at six hundred meters in the Marina stepmother?
There were those who wanted "a baby but no husband," other "two men but no children, those who said" abortion is more comfortable than the pill, those who preferred " change man of business, those who put to the test concubinage and marriage, and of course the traders, the sado-masochistic, and porn actresses. These, new priestesses of Venus Eryx, to rejoin the city honorable mothers, faithful to their spouses and their children dedicated to excellent seamstresses, for licentiousness if provocative spiced spare time for lawyers business and marketing director, he was a dirty grind for sex workers, and even sacred whores film X, who practiced with fervor, were quite happy when they had served their time.
And all these women, shown as examples in articles that girlfriend of Jean-Claude had carefully Verdot cut, were entirely happy, because those who could not be had benefited from the services of a psychologist or benefited from the advice of women's magazines.
women's magazines had ended the archaic conception that the woman had to hold his rank, his behaviors are prohibited, and especially the idea that she had to devote his family, a concept repugnant if is the mother of all domestic abuse. Yes, the reactionary idea that it is through others (comfort and safety of children, social status of husband) the woman is truly happy, which infected the ancestors Petainists pages of these magazines, they had completely eradicated. And nobody wanted to know what the baby faced by the lawyer who spent sixty hours a week with his nanny, or father scrapped because his wife had "fallen for a guy on the beach, or partners one who wanted two men but no baby (but they only had a brain?), much less of course the contributor of semen or her daughter who had "a baby but no husband." The only thing that mattered was to prove week after week, that balance personal and sexual satisfaction of women take precedence over everything else. And, in case some still doubt, he had to repeat week after week, and track gender bias by exhibiting every week some new taboo shelved by the choice of an admirable woman freed.
There were also pink cardboard and plastic with a very naughty Club 69, slipped between two pages of a magazine. Jean-Claude
Verdot should welcome the interest of his girlfriend for licentiousness advocated by women's magazines, because their loyalty was transient, involuntary and suspicious. But instead of rejoicing, on his discoveries plunged into disarray.
First, it was from all these magazines an vulgar little relished by the representatives of the cultural elite. It confirmed the unpleasant impression on Jean-Claude by the impatience of his girlfriend at TNC. Was she not, in short, an ordinary teen of Prisunic, and had he not been deceived by his humanitarian activism and feminist readings produced scattered and superficial? Weeklies of the left, far more respectable than the tabloids that she was reading, regularly preached sexual freedom, based on scientific studies and advice from senior academics. Jean-Claude would not have felt such a discomfort if the emancipation of her vaginal girlfriend was catalyzed by the substantive articles of the Observer Parisien, rather than the banter and garish pictures of Marie-Sheryl and Woman Attitude .
Second, she had been careful to give him his adventures. Their relationship was based on a lie it? Regarded it as a conventional type, jealous, possessive, a greybeard Molieresque before age? It seemed inconceivable, but had she not treated repeatedly "stuck"? Two years earlier, she had wanted him to change his hairstyle and made the bike. She had driven in vain in nightclubs, places where you filthy wore sequins and where we fidgeted at the rate of Love Fever and Coin-Coin-Coin-Coin , basements light greenish and smells of gin fizz, with a festive atmosphere of the Sun at the campsite Chatelaillon beach ball or firefighter in a suburb of Bar-sur-Aube. After these incidents during which he had shown a male spirit of resistance, refusing to ride a motorcycle, barter her hair dull cons cut rock'n'roll, and put your feet Star Club and Village Dance , which would have irreparably damaged his career if any messenger of the department were surprised they had crossed a few weeks of mutual contempt, for which he had not dared to say that he lived with a little idiot commuter nor that she paratageait layer an asshole snob and stuck to the rue Saint-Guillaume.
And it was the memory of these episodes who gave him the key: it was not fact she slept with other men she was hiding, but the identity of these men, most likely, cretins who slicked the djerkaient Star Club and embarked on their hoes of Kawasaki; horrible rednecks who talked of football and car prices people with whom she drank pernod handsomely to sneer and denigrate the contemporary avant-garde, he is heard almost mock the "masturbation", and "taken the head, spit up their mediocrity on the" culture "boring" and "blowing" ... He realized he
rambling. There was no reason for it fréquentât such types without telling her, and even none of the papers found in his closet was no evidence any extramarital concubinale. Why would it be stubborn in a double life, a partnership false, then it did not derive any material benefit from his cohabitation with Jean-Claude, they shared the costs of strictly equal manner?
Thirdly, and this was the most painful event, what he took for great orgasms was perhaps to her than going back and forth viscous and monotonous, and its external manifestations of pleasure a fuss to get it earlier. She quietly sought the satisfaction of the senses from any male raised in boxes like the one he had found the box, and stayed with him through inertia, conformity and idleness.
was an idea quite intolerable, she caused him unbearable pain, so much so that his eyes were blurred, his temples throbbed, and a migraine lead him weighed down her head, like a cartridge of buckshot lodged in the lobes of his brain. The idea was very probably wrong, because she had never complained and nothing mattered more in the eyes of Jean-Claude Verdot that the fullness of sexual partners (the Parisian Observer does he not joined Marie-Sheryl to assert that man was created to lead the woman to orgasm?). He did not hesitate to put the time needed, using all sorts of stimuli and sometimes drugs, not hesitating to adopt positions more complex risking her health. Orgasms very suitable to his girlfriend were not a comedy, but the result of his commendable efforts obstinate. These considerations did not prevent this misconception to torture as well as if she were real.
Especially that sexuality was another aspect, the desire . There, Jean-Claude Verdot should recognize that it was cold and lacked spontaneity. It was always him who initiated the foreplay. It was generally docile, but it was still harassing her a bit to qualify for coitus. Maybe it was a constant of female behavior, although officially it - pure social convention - obeys no law. But maybe, horrible doubt, a woman did not want a man like Jean-Claude Verdot, which was very unfair to him because he considered himself a man model. Perfectly
educated and cultured, and not from any culture, that which was decided in the department and move to France. Do
suffering from any of the flaws of traditional male brutality, drunkenness, boorishness, irresponsibility and bluster. Showing a great enthusiasm
sex, as we said, at the service of women and their orgasms. And not for macho
a penny, respectful of the autonomy of his girlfriend , often leaving him the lead, finally in favor of strict parity both financially and on the sharing of household chores.
Always volunteer to wipe the toilet, change the vacuum bag, stalk crumbs, scraps and sweepings, ironing shirts, mending clothes, rinse the bottom of the trash and get on all fours scrub the floor of the bathroom with a mop under the supervision of his girlfriend . And with all that, she did not want him!

He carefully sorted garbage as directed his girlfriend . There were five tanks that occupied half the surface of the kitchen. Received the blue glass, which according to the new regulations should be cleaned from impurities (labels, capsules, sugar residues in soft drinks or spirits, dead insects, spider webs) - and Jean-Claude Verdot cleaned carefully every pot, every bottle, before filing them. The yolk contained plastic packaging, which must be disposed of in the same state of cleanliness as glass. Welcomed the green paper and cartons, and - consequently membership of Jean-Claude Verdot to the bourgeoisie and secular intellectual fonctionnariale - he was filling faster than others. In an ideal world it would have been greater, but the authorities had calibrated the size of each bin from a French-type whose daily production of each category of junk equaled the national average. There was no French-type, and French had to fight against each filling its asynchronous garbage bins, and yet the method of French-type was probably the most rational way to democratically manage the size of garbage cans, and the concept of French-type was not without beauty, she exhaled a fragrance of old-fashioned clean slate revolutionary, youthful enthusiasm for the metric system, and feverish quest of perfect proportions. In the blue bin piled scrap: capsule, scouring pads scoured the dishes, glasses frames broken, and cans of soda. Parliament had spared the task of cleaning household waste, because public opinion was not yet ripe. But the Department of Collective Health and the Department of Attention to the environment were about to launch an advertising campaign to encourage people to conduct citizen's content blue bins. Tray Black - black as the plight of Third World - contains unnecessary and unworthy objects that lacked both the poor countries of Africa. There was a jumble of tubes of lipstick advertising, toiletry airlines, videotapes sold with regular, old packets of noodles that would not leave for vacation, threadbare shirts sleeves, tights Yarn ...: A bunch heterogeneous, variegated like a pop-collage art of the sixties. Solidarity associations were responsible for collecting these objects and send them (with financial support from the state) to the needy of the planet. But traitors took advantage of what the black bins hosted various objects to throw unusable waste they should have been sorted, cleaned and leave the other boxes. The humanitarian community demanded strict controls and penalties copies.
It fell to Jean-Claude Verdot file each of these five categories of trash in proper bins that the city fathers had placed on the sidewalk. The enthusiasm of the population for the sorting of waste had exceeded the forecast, and it was not uncommon that one of these bins was full. In this case, Jean-Claude Verdot, with a cynicism touching, carrying her trash to another dumpster same color, which was sometimes several hundred meters. But he was proud to spare no efforts to this new challenge that was the sort of garbage.

How To Do A Ballet Shoe In Gum Paste

At that time, Belleville was the area of arts and culture. It had not always been the case and it would change one day. Artists, creators, designers and artists had gathered around the TNC (Citizens National Theatre). There, away from the monumental fiberglass Sung-Jun, they renovated the old workshops and brownfields, developing a lifestyle and friendly alternative. Between hair salons "connected" where you shaved skulls creatively, sometimes punctuating the tattoo, where we pruned goatees to give them a look neglected, where grooming dreadlocks by leaving just the number of chips he had, thrift shops and casual and festive, delicious nestling galleries where artifacts from artists peddling fine but relentless criticism of global capitalism.
And that you had kept an air of old Paris, there were few beggars, North African grocers, old HLM tagged as the Ministry of Culture and Solidarity had been classified as UNESCO heritage preparing to declare the humanity, little people who were driving by car and had children of African families, a colorful variety, wonderful source of inspiration for young designers and fans of the first peoples of world music. Of course it would disappear, the artists have created in their wake a wealthy bourgeoisie and relaxed, the prices went up, some makers Opinion achieve great gains, but when the district would be a neat village with pedestrian streets brightened animation wise, then artists like true pioneers, clearing would go to another area, they in turn would raise over the condition of the dump, and hacks of Cyber-Art and other magazines would mobilize once again, and again there would be some nice real estate gains, until the North African grocers, the small people with their cars and their children, and beggars fail in limbo urban prefabricated houses that lined the airport Roissy, beet fields of the plains of Picardy, a deconstructed space unrecoverable plan, information, or any filmmaker-artist had burst as fast as a goldfish in a bowl of tap water placed on the Formica kitchen, where flooding Cyber-Art panegyrics of vibrating at the urban tribes who read it would not suffice to raise the rent of one euro cent, since it was there permanently fixed by the price of corn subsidies and the vagaries of "Brussels". Jean-Claude Verdot
not enjoyed the privileges of his profession as ever during the first Citizen of the National Theatre. His car even took advantage of the few places left in the street by urban planners - who lined the TNC were reserved for representatives of the Ministry of culture and solidarity. There was that night who were there when he needed was to say within the TNC, and those who had been able to enter because of the inadequacy of their social status. Writers, artists, journalists, politicians and influential officials of the ministry, was a true elite of the regime that was found on the front, and those who decide, not what was happening, but what was said, was written and thought, that is to say that in the digital age as arbiters of the world. Admittedly, the only situation of Jean-Claude Verdot Department did not justify his presence, but Felix Rocquencourt, who harbored a secret dislike for contemporary theater, sent his subordinates on the front and the distinct honor of representing the blow had matured latter to Verdot.
The curtain opens on a naked man, naked as the decor, lying on his back, eyes toward the ceiling, and the room was silent for a taste abysmal silence wanted by the author. After three minutes, the girlfriend of Jean-Claude suppressed a yawn. He glared at. The man got up and started running slowly and he described a circle and could be seen swinging his balls in counterpoint to each stride. The projector changed color, gray became blue, a poor blue uniform reminiscent of a prefect. The man continued, and some involuntary movements of impatience agitated the public. A critical effeminate, front row, seemed the height of ecstasy. The man sat cross-legged in front of the stage, defying the assistance of his eyes vitreous. The glans of his penis lying in the dust of the boards, we imagined mutilated by shards of rough wood. The projector was turned green, green like those which regulated the movement, which was like a green light from the first replica. Height of art, it was drowned by the sound of a passing train, find the great director, ingenious contemptuous of acting redundant.
Another character came in black leather coat. They spoke in fragments, the trains were passing, but we realized that the first man was jailed for having sex with a guilty teenager. He advocated sexual freedom of the latter, to dismantle the shackles family reactionary, for pleasure homosexual, only bulwark against the oppression of multinational capitalism.
text was very intelligent, well-crafted, which showed that culture knew strike at the heart of the City in order to enlighten the great debates of his humanistic light. It was a text which proved that all that was tolerant and libertarian society, there were always boundaries to move, unsuspected discrimination, prejudice that even nestling in men as open as Jean-Claude Verdot, Special Adviser to the Ministry of culture and solidarity. For even Jean-Claude Verdot should confess that this apology for pederasty shocked him, or more precisely the "questioning" of his being eradicating residual stale bourgeois morality. Thanks to the theater, catharsis operated magically Verdot took himself sympathetic to the argument that homosexual who compared himself to Martin Luther King and Dreyfus.
was decidedly poor vocabulary, grammar disjointed. This stemmed from a text search as well as the control room that was accessible to young distressed neighborhoods. There was no course in the room, and none would go see the play, but the author was in compliance with the guidelines and the department, which had facilitated the grant award. And the public was satisfied that the text was so democratic to the extent excluded from the transnational plutocracy, because who else but the government could provide the uneducated masses the benefits of arts and letters?
What these masses are not interested in this piece, parts of the TNC in general, they were illiterate because of "failures" of the School government was eager to forget it for better taste, thanks to bad French and the poverty of syntax, the good conscience of the generous act.
Pleasure Jean-Claude Verdot course was indirect; also attend the first in a TNC and its friends to know he enjoyed join the social message of the work, especially although he had overcome his instinctive prejudices. For, on the strict terms of designation, the piece has none.
No plot, poor language, diction, without interest, scenery minimalist, underwater lighting, sight, hearing, intelligence were weaned voluntarily to make way for the social reality and its termination.
Moreover, it must be admitted, the girlfriend Jean-Claude seemed bored. She stamped on his head. Not that any intellectual or artistic inferiority would have prevented assessing the room as people were exactly equal, but no doubt some scandalous inequality residue lurking in the education system explained the shortcomings of its formation. Because for understand contemporary art, it should be carefully prepared. It was not directed at the natural man, heterosexual, individualistic, aggressive, territorial, and therefore inherently unequal bad, but the new man, freed by the education of his evil instincts. And the girlfriend of Jean-Claude Verdot had received an incomplete education, since it was passed by a technical track - progressive forces fighting to abolish the employers but opposed it - when preparing for a profession outweighed disciplines citizens.
For these reason, Jean-Claude brewing in the semi-conscious idea that she did very well suitably Passionnata love and to good causes, she was not quite "sortable". She could have a conversation with Felix Rocquencourt.
During the intermission, they felt some discomfort.
"Then you like it?
Yes, yes ... uh ... yes.
-A splendid blueprint, do not you think?
-What does that mean?
Gaps vocabulary his girlfriend annoyed Jean-Claude. She asked him the meaning of words he used suddenly, as if it had been rude to him, and did not show humility and admiration of his desire to elevate him, we would have expected from a being healthy.
-A sketch ... that means pure ... pure ... somehow stripped of frills ... a classic ... uncompromising ... rough ... tough ...
The precise meaning of the word blueprint also escaped from Jean-Claude Verdot, it was a word that was used in the circle of his friends, his use dated back to some professor of general culture of the Institute of Political Studies, it was a way of saying that we were able to formulate their own judgments on a piece and the rent for which was not there. But there was no connection between the geometrical structure of a diagram and any idea associated with the use of the word in this context, it was actually a sophisticated way, while technically incorrect with regard to language, to say that the play was "pure", because "pure" was too simple a word, but it's too majestic for appliquât a work of the TNC, it would have sounded bizarre and incongruous; 'pure' suggested "Natural", and the Ministry of Culture of Solidarity and all other government departments were fighting against human nature, which was even, to some extent, public enemy number one. So "blueprint" that meant "pure", but in the context reasoned, built, planned and readable, the new culture of solidarity. Cerebrally pure, politically pure, but not as pure as a spring or a grove, and even less like the gallop of the panther chasing antelope.
-To be rough is rough, finds his girlfriend , whose eyes dared launch sparkling flashes of irony.
was horrible. Technical schools were decidedly poor job. There was a whole point behind this common sense bourgeois or peasant, and that Jean-Claude Verdot plunged into deep distress. There was a shadow of his happiness. His girlfriend was very properly love, they had excellent orgasms, sexual relationships were in full compliance with the standards taught in schools - with the exception perhaps of a detail that we will discuss in Chapter next, but could not tolerate this disregard for stubborn production than any criticism Cyber-Art head, recognized as exceptional.
So it was a dark mood they went down again at the beginning of the second act. But it proved far more lively than the first, without losing its austerity harsh and rough, with a great find of staging. As and when the action took place, which is a manner of speaking, since there were none, a crescendo of sounds strikingly evoked an urban riot. Police sirens, explosions Molov cocktails, flame lights, a crowd running in all directions screaming ... Full of art, a slight smell of tear gas hung in the room. It was now directly acting as part of the spirits. It was expected that the rioters fissent burst onto the stage and attack the homosexual (including aftershocks were still being regularly covered by the noise of trains), this introduced a tension, an instability which stimulated attention. In this anxiety, the replica took on particular importance, it evokes the fragility of the human condition, the tragic absurdity that death gives our actions. Heart rates accelerated, the Verdot girlfriend of only yawned over, the spectators watched in disbelief, the effect was particularly successful, there lived a great moment in art, and nobody had expected. Critics, sitting in the front row, scribbling feverishly while the sirens became more oppressive, you could hear rocks hitting the vehicle body and the explosions of light poles, and a smell of burning plastic is now mingled with that of tear gas. They were laying huge papers, get their boss a front-page headline, we rally the crowds, school buses, the piece would be a triumph ...
The noise gradually died out riot as the second act was over. The screams were more spaced out, the sirens of ambulances follow those of firefighters, shutters opened, you could hear the chatter of the onlookers vaguely ...
is smiling as the audience left the hall. People were eager to share their impressions. We watched with the connivance of the elected. Yet exclamations came from the lobby expressed more surprise than admiration. And when Jean-Claude Verdot and his girlfriend crossed in turn, they were also surprised. They were buses of riot police in every way. Here and there, vehicles and garbage burning. Concrete blocks, coming from nowhere, dotted the floor. The beautiful canopy Sung-Jun was reduced to smithereens. Their surprise was even greater when, after crossing several cordons of police, they saw that their car was more than a steaming carcass. They thought he was a trick of staging, the echo of the authentic riot that broke out near the theater. No doubt city youth in trouble ...
We knew nothing of what had provoked the clashes. The cops did not want nothing. Disapproval and consternation spread through the crowd of spectators, many of whom had found their car burned. They were forced to wait on the steps that the authorities support them. The area was still cordoned off the subway and not circulated.
-Still, they exaggerate, "they said.
-We do not know what these young people have experienced ...
-Misery
neighborhood ... "It's probably still a
entrapment ..." What are we waiting for to provide them with cultural activities instead of parking them in squalid cities? So much
that the government will not apply a real policy of the city, we got what we deserve.
And it should end this bloody conflict in the Middle East ...
And with all discrimination, little lady!
-Besides the weight of colonial wars ...
- excluding ... ... ... school failure who are both carriers of
pain ... "But what they do, they will not stay planted there any night? If these bastards
-insurers reimburse you the car at half the price of the Argus, you'll be lucky.
"What are they waiting to build social housing?
-To set up an integration allowance?
And the prison, sir! You forget the prison! While all psychologists ... studies the most serious ... ... indisputably demonstrated that a psychological follow custom ... accompanied by an ambitious political rehabilitation
... - ... To think they expect that everything burned to strengthen programs civic education ...
- "They" have never been in politics for prevention, then after that "they" do not complain ...
"They have to stop harassing the young!
-On should ban the police to get involved. There are mediators, neighborhood committees

... Alone in his corner, Nicole Michaud, who had paid his place in the barn by long hours of waiting, was silent. She was not happy. His car did not burn, because it had none. She could never remember the formula for braking distance or length of the interval between two white lines on a road, in consequence of which he had been judged unfit to drive. She thought his ability to move depended on the willingness of young sensitive areas, as well as the habits of drug dealers governed complicated routes it borrowed to leave his neighborhood. She wondered what connection there might be among the rubble that lay under his eyes and pious precepts Republicans that she had taught for thirty years. And also how so many learned minds had professed that it was sufficient for all s'arrangeât, endlessly replicating the gray abstruse cultural centers and parts such as the one she had suffered, so desperately identical to what she had swallowed since the beginning of his cultural odyssey.
Nicole Michaud had lost its defenses. Human nature took over the top. An irrepressible sense of rebellion was brewing in her. She needed serious psychological help.

Standard Dvd Grainy On Blu Ray

On April 7 at six o'clock in the morning, the fourth regiment of marine infantry parachute establishes its position at the museum Norbert Walsung. The first detachment under the command of Captain Speyer, displayed a security cordon around the central building, while three soldiers were walking to the entrance of the store. Hervé Berneuil housed the second detachment responsible for the protection of major works housed by the museum. He began by installing a machine gun near a giant sculpture of a burnt match, and then, realizing that the left side of the work was vulnerable, including two guards stationed armed with machine guns. He set up two mobile patrols to monitor the works of lesser quality. He sent a third to the control room, where we controlled the holograms and videos, it would be noted by the Engineer Battalion was to happen the next day. Finally, two scouts went in search of Sung-Jun, the highlight of the museum, so famous that its roadmap did not mention its nature or its location.
Every quarter of an hour, he took stock radio with Speyer, who worried about the shop, the terrorists claimed they did not tackle the "commodification of art"? Firecrackers, stink bombs or a bomb could easily hide among the gums, key chains and items stolen. Having given his orders to the sergeant in charge of the battery, Berneuil undertook, with the rest of his soldiers, the systematic exploration of other rooms. The ministry had recommended special attention to works disturbing, provocative and subversive. He spotted four toilet bowls seamlessly attached to a metal partition, although it evoked him, after all, that the communal latrines of the barracks, he decided they were sufficiently subversive, disturbing and provocative in order to post two pomegranate outfielders-equipped heavy helmets. Distributors of chewing gum filled with cigarette butts, beer caps, plastic packaging and fragments used tampons seemed rather a depressing banality. Even the museum had in Djibouti, and local authorities had publicly welcomed this flexibility into the Horn of Africa in Western modernity. There was a lot of scrap cars, scrap heap of shapeless mounds and other heterogeneous materials whose subversive, the deranged and provocativité were difficult to judge. Unable to interpret the vacuum in which these works lethargic plunged him, Berneuil decided to address the issue in a more military. All this was far too exposed, lacked coverage, the layout of the museum apparently unaware of security considerations. Some rooms were indefensible, they had too many doors and station troops there was dangerous because they risked being taken back. That is why he gave up defending four steel beams imbedded in gravel. This was a serious mistake, for though few provocative or subversive, four beams were other than the famous Sung-Jun, which had failed to report a sign not to be an affront to the reputation of the artist. However, he displayed a rocket launcher anti-tank next to a plantation of bamboo, because it was in the corner of a room easier to defend, without suspecting that he was not a work of art but a worthless element of decoration the museum. Similarly, he ordered commandos to protect four hyperrealist paintings representing the buttocks of a woman full of fat and lumpy as they bothered him, unaware that the living art of Deborah Gonzalez relegated these kind of anecdotal evidence to the rank of a past gone. In sum, it was easier to bombard the mujahedeen to analyze the fine developments in the forefront International.
After the attack against the exhibition of Deborah Gonzalez, the government had repatriated troops stationed in Djibouti to protect cultural sites. Among these, the museum Walsung was the most sensitive because, emblematic of the bold artistic policy of the State, he had already been attacked and it was rumored that the terrorists had slipped threats in an application for funding department. Immediately after the departure of the French, the combatants of Allah had captured three villages, engaged, according to some sources, to atrocious massacres which the press had not spoken.
Taking a stand in a museum of contemporary art akin to conquer a desert exposed to enemy attack. The rooms were immense works, often massive, very distant from each other. It was not enough to put a squadron at the foot of a sculpture totem seventeen meters high, it still had to ensure the top of the totem against projectiles: water bombs, Molotov cocktails, grenades ... Conversely, it was more easy to stack sandbags around a kind of twist of barbed wire which evoked a paraboloid hyperbolic or some other surface scholarship.
Moreover, the General Staff of the Army was studying seriously, in collaboration with the Ministry of Culture of Solidarity, the establishment of safety standards for visual work, which would make them less vulnerable to sabotage. Be deprived of state subsidies for designs which fail to adhere to these standards, which would sign their death art. Certainly, the collective would not fail to protest against this interference with the freedom of the artist, but the emergency does not justify it?
There was a tropical aquarium with colorful fish and playful snorted one of the finer fractal Pacific corals, and rightly Berneuil decided to leave it unprotected - located near the cafeteria, and too vivid and colorful for a contemporary work, the aquarium could not, according Berneuil that belong to the decor. In truth, planned for the site of a major bank, another client of Giant Construction, it was installed incorrectly, and the unions had refused to dismantle it. Felix Rocquencourt, embittered by its mediocrity, but wanted to blow up the financial controller refused to allow funding of such operation, while the safety commission was opposed because it would be too dangerous.
However, the huge white sheets hanging on a clothes line left him perplexed. Should this be seen as a work fraught with meaning, a tribute to the work of Mediterranean women, oppressed by millennia of domestication or a guardian he was staying nearby, enjoying the quiet hours to dry their clothes? Or, a collective of artists in search of self-recognition, the excluded protesting against the injustice of their plight, they came to occupy the premises?
In the latter case, what to do ? The General Staff had given any instructions. Speaking founder resumed full by the newspaper Le Monde, the head of government had argued that any transgression provided to help him build a better society. On the other hand, the squatters may have belonged to a gang of saboteurs, and it was then neutralized. Upon reflection, he sent a detachment of elite, armed infrared goggles, walkie-talkies and portable radars, looking for potential occupants.
could hear the hum of a helicopter from the naval air, equipped with missiles air-ground, flying over the museum. The engineer detachment had just arrived, having already installed four batteries of "Milan" to defend outside the museum. The next day, Felix Rocquencourt and a member of the General Staff inspected the troops.

Brdige Designs Balsa Wood

CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 FIRST INTERLUDE

On 26 January at 10.45 am, Jean-Claude Verdot looking through a stack of applications for financing. Many artists asking for money to the government, and the pile was high. When he felt some fatigue, Jean-Claude was reading an article in the newspaper Le Monde before returning to the task. In the newspaper
The World the news was good. It was now clear that young people who beat to death the old lady had no intention to kill. They simply wanted to intimidate him and had hit a bit too hard. Moreover, the witness who had seen his corpse attached to the rear of the stolen vehicle and drag him down the rocky trail was confronted with young and had retracted. A psychologist at the University of Rouen explained to readers of World how it was a sad story, a sad parable of the unhappiness of a Suburban youth in distress, but also a true story reveals the difficulties of integrating the elderly in the era of the smart card and the world wide web. In sum, this incident was almost a good thing because it allowed the psychologist and the newspaper Le Monde to wonder about the collective problems of society today and concerted measures to be taken by governments to address the situation. The psychologist said that culture was a privileged way of citizenry. So it's loaded with highly political - in the true sense the term - so sacred - his task, Jean-Claude Verdot took the first request for funding.
She was from a young filmmaker who demanded full of promises to the community its fair contribution to a first feature film. It included two letters of recommendation from one Markowicz himself, the other a drama director, who had left an unforgettable Mother Courage twilight, transposed into a ghetto dream, populated by mutant bats wearing gray coats.
The first feature film from a promising young filmmaker describing the uncertainties in love with a young woman in search of her sexual identity after her partner had died of AIDS. A project original and contemporary, which awaken the vigilance of the secular bourgeois intellectual of the Left Bank, and Jean-Claude gratified to note 17/20.
But the second project was more daring. In addition, it was from a woman, and Felix Rocquencourt, based on a keynote speech of the Minister, had given priority to the creation of women. It was shown that women read three times more than men, attending a point sixty-two times more museums and accounted for seventy-two percent of subscriptions theater. There was really something to celebrate, but then why the majority of designers were they not créateuses? This scandal should cease immediately, and the Ministry of Cultures Partners them employed through grants "fertile women".
So the bold project this young designer described how a young person, following a traumatic experience incestuous, gradually discovering his homosexuality throughout his wanderings between urban and Mabillon Richard-Lenoir. It was rated 18/20.
But the third project seemed fundamentally more attractive, along with comedy and truly citizen. A nice bunch of kids from a neighborhood that moves infiltrates a small extreme-right in order to thwart a plot against an environmentalist candidate in legislative elections. He received the grade of 18.5 / 20.
Finally, the "living memory of the Holocaust" only received 16/20, despite the emphasis by the Department the duty to remember, they had been instructed to avoid offending sensibilities in a time of friction Middle East and would have been a shame to jeopardize sustainable peace by throwing oil on the fire, Jean-Claude Verdot was convinced that he did not linger to wonder why the project "living memory of the Holocaust" could undermine sustainable peace.
After four funding applications, he felt fatigue legitimate. He went to have coffee with her colleague and said Odile reading World . On page 7, a cleric denounced the Socialist scandalous selfishness of the United States. They refused to cooperate in the fight against global warming, preparing for wars unjust, and demanded a special status for their troops. They had abused their superiority technology to build a space defense system inviolable, in defiance of allies and without reference to the international community. Worse, they seemed well prepared for climate manipulation in order to reverse the Gulf Stream, which would deal to Europe's cold winters which she would never recover. The author was fuming with rage at the idea that their military superiority prevented any international peacekeeping force to disgorge this rogue state. The poor are dying of hunger and monopolies kept the rest of the population in the moral and cultural dearth. The author wished for its construction a humanist Europe, centered on man, where the State Ombudsman of solidarity, the guarantor of human rights, alleviate the suffering moral and intellectual men. It had to end this clique of greedy billionaires who, from their lofty skyscrapers of Wall Street, oppressed the entire planet.
Buoyed by the idea that Europe humanist would never happen without the ministry of culture and solidarity, Jean-Claude Verdot boldly attacked the following folders.
In the "arts", a "collective vigilance" proposed to build on the museum plaza Norbert Walsung a stele that any person who considers himself a victim of discrimination would carve his name. It was citizen and participatory, but no conceptual or kinetics, and it sounded outdated in the era of modern sculpture by Deborah Gonzalez. We could have shown more boldness. Responsible for the Department's mission returned from San Francisco, alarmed: happenings scatological, sadomasochistic exhibitions and exhibitions genital multiply, Paris relegating the status of provincial town ruled the chaotic birth of the new post-human art. We cared about at the highest government level, but Jean-Claude Verdot could contribute to national revival by making abortion obsolete and reactionary projects.

Tylenol In Infants Constipation

A masked gang sabotaged exposure Deborah Gonzalez

They dared. While the artistic community were to host a party last exposure Deborah Gonzalez, the creative unknown to the general public but that specialists are following with attention, simply because it is revolutionizing the sculpture, a band of jokers out of nowhere, nose and beard of the museum staff Norbert Walsung, wearing masks cheesy and tasteless, have allowed to spray paint four of the forty models of exposure. Thus ends, because of unconscious rudeness of savages, one of the most original aesthetic experiences of the coming century and whose technical development and choreography, it goes without saying, has required months of work. The joke could have been very wrong, because one of the models should have been rushed to hospital and received a work stoppage for two months. Fortunately, his days are not of anger.

Questioned by the press, MZ, Museum Director Walsung, strongly condemned the attack and said that proceedings would be initiated. The delegate of the CGT peronnel museum expressed dismay at "the unspeakable damage to the access of all to culture." "The management, he said, is largely responsible for this act of sabotage. Ignoring warnings from union representatives, she spent - on behalf of a logic of profitability that we condemn - means wholly inadequate for monitoring and securing the socio-cultural space. "

Volkl C10 comp

On Monday, March 25, Nicole Michaud, pre-retired of Education, left home to go to the exhibition of Deborah Gonzalez. It was cold, not to put off a hustler. She made a slight detour to take the subway because she wanted to avoid a bunch of guys pretty dirty, accompanied by German shepherds, begging for money and cigarettes. She knew they were not dangerous, it was enough to answer them kindly, smiling, and it expressed its solidarity, we recognize them as similar. But on the morning of Monday, March 25 Nicole Michaud was tired, she did not want to smile to his fellows, indeed it was longer very sure that there was anything similar to them and, if it is an anatomical structure that she also shared with most mammals.
The ride went smoothly, and the windows were scratched as usual, and it annoyed him a bit more than usual, although she was perfectly aware that 1) this kind of vandalism was not very serious, there was no big deal and 2) it would disappear once you have treated collectively substantive issues, sociological, economic, and cultural. The work
Deborah Gonzalez inaugurated a museum of contemporary art we had just built on the edge of the device. Nobody knew who was Walsung Norbert, who gave his name to the building. But it was said that the funding was questionable. Felix Rocquencourt have used all his influence with the President. We had to give up nurseries, schools and hospitals. There was one death in unclear circumstances.
Leaving the subway, Nicole Michaud was dazzled. There was first a vast esplanade, worthy of a Christian or Muslim pilgrimage. She would testify to archaeologists thousands of years to come, the great fervor that drained Contemporary Art. Fountains pyramidal, cubical and spherical, designed by none other than Sung Jun (because why quibble when you build in the collective interest?), Punctuating this stretch of concrete that future generations could easily convert more pragmatic in airstrip. [The Ministry of Culture of Solidarity, however, ensured that these generations avoid falling into a dish materialism.] Of course, zigzagging between rollerwomen skatemen and fountains, and their fluorescent leggings drew coils Carnival in the dull light of the winter ending. In these early hours, there was too much, mostly in their forties were freshly converted to the sport.
The museum itself consisted of a circular concrete wall that no opening is pierced, domed plexiglass supported by a wire mesh. Bad language would have compared the building to a prison, unable to understand that the lack of windows symbolized the virtues claimed by the intransigence of contemporary art.
A special team of disadvantaged young people hired under special contracts was responsible for cleaning the dome was a heroic job, he was clinging to a rope and crawl like an insect on the slippery walls, like a mutant hero of American comic. The CGT and the Committee on Health and Safety at Work protested, but we could not let dust accumulate on a museum of contemporary art, it would have been more qu'inconvenant: politically suspect, and the department had made funds available to finance increased capacity and working time arrangements available to the CGT final settlement.
There was a long queue, but only for tourists, because Nicole Michaud as Paris and pre-retired national education benefited from the special concern of the authorities, and had a pass for direct access to museum spaces in the capital .
The museum's management had made a special effort to integrate disabled people into the world of work. Many guards were traveling in wheelchairs, some cashiers emerged from serious psychological disorders, other employees were shaken by stuttering and tics doubtful the information booth, we had the facies clearly Mongoloid, while in the locker room, it was dying, coughing of some immune deficiency terminal.
The revolutionary work of Deborah Gonzalez, a pioneer of Living Art, featured fifty naked men over the age of forty-five. They came from all walks of life: artists, marginal, fathers, sports, advertising moguls and teachers of Classics. They had asserted their pride in the press to lend substance to this unique experience. They were exhibited in cages of various materials, but all bio-degradable bamboo, sisal, papyrus, vines, branches of sycamore, plywood, etc.. "What interests me above all, had shamelessly told the artist to review Cyber-Art is man in his nakedness. She had shaved their head to affix his signature. Le Nouvel Observateur had devoted a special issue to the exhibition on the theme "women to take back the body of man." A fifty intellectuals, artists, designers, researchers and journalists to express their views. The Living Art of Deborah Gonzalez borrowed directly, concretely and physically to nature. The vanguard found it earlier suddenly relegated to the dustbin of history.
Although a native of San Francisco, California, Deborah Gonzalez chose to live in Paris. Nicole Michaud
peered curiously at the body, they evoked neither the strength nor the ancient heroes of Mr. Muscle and other stars of the muscle-and they were pretty flabby, wrinkled, and the tail hanging, prostrate and shameful, froze in poses humiliated, either spontaneously or under the instructions given by the artist, their flesh on the threshold of old age refracted shadows pale projectors sepia, gray and purple, was the distress the Western white male after he had laid the burden of history. She felt a subtle emotion as a funeral touching, something discreet and Racine that spelled out the hum of air conditioning and the distant echo of the store's cash registers.
We had the right touch, it was envisaged in the concept was the ultimate transgression, the ultimate demolition of the fiction of a respectable art, but she dared not, she stayed behind, fascinated by this poignant tribute. Around it, the Boeotian stifled their giggles.
Models had slender legs, shoulders hunched and ribs protruding, their bodies had nothing more to say, he had no function other than its own maintenance. The saddest thing was their buttocks, pitiful residue of all defeats.
With allowances, Nicole Michaud had undertaken a methodical cultural odyssey She originally infatuated archaeological travel - Angkor, Karnak, Cuzco - favoring, thanks to numerous scholarly books, an intelligent reading of the remains. Then there had been major museums around the world, it had taken courses in art history and had tried to watercolor. Then run out of money, she had passed on the literary scene, devouring the latest Femina, Goncourt and Renaudot. When she had a headache, she put down her book and went to see a film - the cinema of the corner loved young French authors, which still did not solve the headache. Then there was kinetic art, visual artists and designers. And also the theater avant-garde and modern dance. Nothing that was not cultural was foreign to him.
The effect produced by the eclectic brew chowing down on it every day came down to this adjective trivial: she was happy. There was always at least one reason to be satisfied in each of his aesthetic experiences. She was glad to have seen what he had to see him recover his memories in a novel fashion, the comic too large of a sculpture, decorative virtues of a pictorial motif, or a saucy provocations street performer, or because it was filmed in a neighborhood she knew. Glad I got tickets, to be returned home safely, that the decorations were nice to look at, that music would not do him much earful as she feared, that the book had only eighty pages, the time interval allowed her to eat a sandwich, that the piece was written in a language intelligible that the choreographer has provided for the simulated coitus, the opera ends before the last metro glad I bought the catalog of the exhibition and the museum is not on strike. That the pyramids are in place and the Raft of the Medusa like himself. They speak well in the newspapers of what she had seen the day before. It can talk to her friends at tea time.
In addition to being happy, she felt sometimes (as in the work of living flesh of Deborah Gonzalez) indescribable emotion that, although belonging to the bourgeoisie and secular intellectual fonctionnariale this caste guardian of the Logos, it would struggled to describe.
It was crouched on the floor, head between his shoulders, he is lying on his belly, looking the secrets of the earth and another on his knees in prayer for hints of blasphemy raises a fourth adopted a neutral but traces of bites and body modification Past punctuated his body. At the center of the exhibition, the artist had planned a meditation space, where visitors were invited to immerse themselves. It was a magic circle drawn on the floor with a projector in the center that sent the ceiling of abstract figures, fractals, stains Rochsach
... Unfortunately, there was a guy who was reading the newspaper, what was he doing here? It disturbed his meditation, she could not help but read over his shoulder, but here in this space which was being built for posterity, the insignificance of misery broke the news fugitive and nonsense trotted out by politicians. But she was stronger, as if this incident had banal citizenship here.
Pourtrouville Sports Centre, in the Val d'Oise, had exploded for the third time. They had found the gas cans, gas bottles and jagged traces of explosives professionals. It was suspected that two of the band members had been sentenced to several months in jail for similar explosions. They had received training and rehabilitation of a personal psychological. The population was appalled and the city fathers did not understand. Why pick on the emblem of their generous efforts of solidarity and integration of young people in trouble? Ministresse the Youth and Sports called for respect, respect for the party, respect for the friendship, respect community values, it would launch a campaign of respect in schools, there would be exhibitions by artists citizens on respect, footballers would go talk to young people, we organize a celebration of compliance with rock bands and TV stars. The ministresse said that the dawn of youth festival would take place, whatever one thinks, for State and local treasure trove of generosity, and we would rebuild the sports center for a third time, a fourth if necessary, until these young people understand how the authorities liked. Compassion, understanding, tolerance and openness, these are the values defended by the Ministry of Youth and Sports, and moreover that the Ministry of Culture of Solidarity, the state formed a compact block of positive energy, sounding for all the good wishes and thanks to the sports festival, the festival of culture and the celebration of youth, goodness would spread inexorably.
There were many other things in this newspaper spoke of intellectuals on the future of football, an official association frightened progress of obesity, the French agriculture was once again under the knife
throat ... Suddenly they heard screams, it was a scuffle here and there people ran about with fire extinguishers, whistles sounded, the panic came from the back of the room, the sound of approaching police siren could be heard crying scandal, others argued that it was expected, a happening of living art, the latest discovery of Deborah Gonzalez. Nicole Michaud nodded to learn more, it became almost amusing, one of the models was covered with paint, he foamed with rage, they saw two clear out Mickey, a Scrooge, a King Kong and a Steve McQueen armed with bombs aerosol and a squad of nurses arrived, another model, also brushed, rolled on the ground, gripped by a fit of sobbing, laughing under the eye of a group of college students in pajamas extra-large, guarded by a teacher who angrily pressed the buttons on his phone. A guy in uniform, strong odor of alcohol, explained by a babbling bourgeois very angry that although he wore a uniform, he was in no way responsible for safety, he was reluctant to police because he found all forms of repression and morally reprehensible we had reclassified its status to that of cultural leader. The missus grew angry, and invoked the civic republican values. The employee, whose stammer growing logorrhea degenerated into unintelligible, answered him, it seemed, he believed above all in solidarity. They were jostled by three fellows armed with fire extinguishers shouting orders into the microphone on their walkie-talkie. A manager told police the direction in which the masked gang had fled, the museum guards gently repelled the crowd to the exits, you could read in their faces the satisfaction of returning home soon after this unexpected entertainment.